


Feeling

by founderofanation



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: F/M, emma remembers the night she sort of tried to seduce scott, in canon, just messing around to get the feel of these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 23:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20787110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/founderofanation/pseuds/founderofanation
Summary: Emma remembering the night during the UXM 2001 annual





	Feeling

She doesn’t show emotion. It’s a promise so old she doesn’t actually remember the first time she made it. By now it felt natural to watch people from inside their heads. It was easy to hide in her new diamond skin when she didn’t want that burden. And yet here she was … feeling things sitting at the counter in the kitchen of the Manor, brewing tea.

“I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you.” Scott’s tone was sorrow, his words enough to shatter her. His eyebrows furrowed. The bridge of his nose wrinkled. They say the eyes are the window to the soul but how do you choose to go through a wall of concussive force to get there? He’s standing in the doorway and then he’s gone back into the dark of the house in the night. 

It stung to watch him go. But she doesn’t follow. This was the conclusion of all the off hand comments and small glances after that one long night drunk talking about all the things that weren’t mutant war related. The memory is warm and Emma finds herself pulled in from the cold of her thoughts. The cold splash of reality she knew was coming was not enough to stop her from recalling every detail of that night in Hong Kong. It’s the kind of city where there is always light so the fact that his room is pitch black under the door makes her smirk. She didn’t knock, tried the handle and pushed with her shoe. 

“Who’s there?” he’s half asleep, foggy, shirtless, temptation incarnate. She feels the shift in him almost without her powers. He sees her. He knows her. He doesn’t move to cover up. His mouth turns at one corner as if he’s the reason she’s standing there. Isn’t he though?

All morning, all day while she faced a run of the horror mill they called life she felt him. She’d been more frustrated with the fact that Wolverine had messed with her only deliberate attempt to reach out to Scott than him touching her butt. His mind was calm, organized, quick and alert. Feeling that energy even for a moment gave her clarity. 

“I couldn’t sleep after the traumas of the day.” She held up the wine thinking. Drink me under your bed Summers. “Tell me more about the world of chastity, Scott…” comes out instead as Emma crosses to where he has placed a thinking chair. She’d seen his office, bedroom, meeting spaces. He always has a chair. His brow knit when his chair was sat in. So she kicked off her slippers and draped herself across the chair and poured them wine. Scott watched her go from the bed. He got up when she sat, moving to grab a pair of sweatpants. A man in uniform dressed down was as yummy as she suspected. He took the wine glass she offered. 

“Jean and I aren’t a conversation.” He stated it as a fact when it was more of a hypothesis. She poured and sipped her wine. He did the same.

“This is excellent.” Scott lifted his glass to her.

“I know.” Emma felt pride but dismissed it. “I also know what I want to teach at the school.”

“Is that so? You taught at Genosha, right? The school marm thing wasn’t a ploy to lure in young women?” He sits on the end of the bed with a leg propped up on the arm on the chair. His arm draped, glass precarious in hand, Scott Summers baits her in a way she’s never experienced. Eyebrow arch, lip twitch, shoulder drop. Reading Scott's body language while staring at ruby quartz sunglasses was like playing tri level chess or girls field hockey. It demanded finesse not violence. That was what pulled her in. It seemed like he would use his abilities to disguise his intent. Instead, amidst a mind fucked with and exposed, Scott Summers was one of the most authentic persons she's encountered. He walks an exact path that ends with him being most often right and validated in his choices. He knows his calling and he fills it with a sense of total dedication. Watching him was like watching a Rube-Goldberg machine. What others took for granted was the very thing that drew her in. 

“Actually no. I had wanted to be a teacher back in high school actually.” She bit her lip and took a sip of wine to settle her nerves. Sharing was a tool. Opening up led to connection. Connection becomes more? What did she want? Scott. She wanted Scott Summers. As much or as little as she could acquire she would covet. He was like chocolate cake and everyone deserved cake. Especially her. Plus he could get her the other thing she needed. Students. “Hellfire Club sidetracked me. The X-men gave that passion back to me with a new sense of purpose.” The earnestness in her voice surprised even Emma. Cyclops leaned into her space. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

They watch each other for a moment. 

“I’m trying to picture you in High School but all I get is -” Scott snickers a little. "The first times I met you were in highly adult circumstances. I don’t know what young Emma might look or be like.” 

Emma smiles as she thinks back herself. “Brunette.” 

Again part of her dies for the honesty and more of her knows this is what will get her what she wants. If she’s going to start over again it would be in the name of every generation she’s lost and carries in her heart. Scott is watching her. She reaches out her mind and allows him to see her as a young girl. The girl who just wanted Ian to take her away from her awful parents and life. 

“When did you dye it first?” He asks, accepting and non judgemental of her telepathy. 

“When I went to College and once I was dancing at the Hellfire Club.” She shrugs reaching for the wine and refilling their glasses. Her hair hangs into her face, longer than it’s been in awhile. Her chest barely contained in the slip top she’s wearing, her underpants hang out the top of her matching black silk shorts. She pulls back and takes a drink, feeling the buzz at the fringes of her awareness. His attention is on her for a moment. He is a celebate. It’s annoying. It’s probably dangerous too. She can feel the level of control it’s taking him not to rip the clothes off her body. “Do I always make you feel like this?” 

His breath catches, anger simmering. “Emma.”

“It’s an honest question. I try to stay out of you head.” She’s not lying. But try has a loose definition. Plus who would blame a telepath for having a voice kink. Hearing Scott Summers say, in his mellow tone, that he wanted her would be enough to hold her over for days, weeks even. “How do I make you feel, Cyclops of the X-Men?” 

He smiled at her. This was something Scott liked about her. She wanted him in the now. Jean was everything to him, his destiny and soulmate, the boy who she connected to as teens. But what if he wasn’t that Scott anymore? Also Emma never talked about work. She talked about herself. She talked about him. That made him feel. Jean made him remember, think, assess. Emma made him feel. Danger lurked over every inch of her pale skin. He rolled his shoulders back. “You make me feel like this was a bad idea.”

Too far Frost. She chides herself before going to stand by the window. “I got us sidetracked. I know Charles teaches telepathy and so does Jean. I would want to augment the program. Give some help to students who need tutoring instead of having other side projects.” She checks her nails, keeps her tone neutral. “There’s always some poor love who needs something extra.”

“And that extra is you?” He’s teasing again. Light. It’s expected by now unlike the feeling forming at the tips of her fingers.

She tilts her head. “Why not?”

He chuckles. “I’m used to you being a part of the problem, not the solution Miss Frost.”

The moment after that is silent. He looks at the floor. She looks at her drink. There’s no tension, only a small breath to acknowledge this is different from where they thought they would find themselves one day. 

“Don’t get me wrong but that’s part of the appeal. There’s going to be a few students who don’t feel drawn to Xavier’s dream and Jean’s unwavering kindness will taste sour. Me. I’m untrustworthy so they come to me.” She downs the last of her wine and looks at the bottle. “All tapped out.” 

Scott stands then. “Where did you find it in the first place?” 

Emma slides on the arm on the chair so they are closer to eye level. “Downstairs. They have a kitchen.”

He’s standing, hands on hips, looking off into the distance for a moment. Discerning. She’s seen the look so often on the field. There’s something about seeing it in private makes her feel (there she was again, feeling again) as if he was letting her in.

The whistle from the tea kettle brings Emma back to the present and away from that night a few months back in Tokyo. Now she was here in Xavier’s Mansion and she felt like she wanted more Scott Summer than ever.


End file.
